


A Morty Mix-up

by rumpndump



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Citadel of Ricks, Gen, Hierarchy of the Citadel, I don't know how these work yet, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Dysfunctional Family, Morty Smith B-179, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rick Sanchez D-746
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpndump/pseuds/rumpndump
Summary: The Morty Adoption Center: An Agency dedicated to finding Rick-less Mortys a new Rick, while supplying Morty-les Ricks a generous amount of new Mortys... well, almost every Rick.“Here’s the thing, Rick,”  growled the other Rick in annoyance. He leaned over the desk, elbows bracing his weight as he said, “rules are that I report you to crime-stoppers and let McGruff reprimand your ass for intentionally killing your Morts. You’ll be hauled off to the funny-farm without a hearing, because Ricks like you are the reason we have these regulations in place--Family-less Rick.”Laminate labels coded each file, ranging from green to red to purple to yellow--all different pending Mortys having yet to be processed or adopted. Ricks that didn't work in the agency but had been there enough times, likely knew the colors by heart--greens were adoptable, yellows were pending, reds had yet to be picked up, and purples were... deceased.There were a lot of purple tabs in his file.





	A Morty Mix-up

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really big adaptation of an RP between me and a Discord friend Lilybean! This is based off of her idea about a 'family-less' Rick who comes across a very young Morty, and their little weird dynamic together. This does cover over some dark matters much later in the story, but for now I thought to start it off with just the small beginning! 
> 
> Lilybean is the Morty in this, and of course the Ricks and Rick Dialogue is mine! 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Bustling business polluted large corridors leading into a building, as trafficking Ricks from all over the countless dimensions harbored tickets and return slips for deceased or defective Mortys. This agency, the Morty Adoption Center, was dedicated to finding Rick-less Mortys a new Rick, while also supplying Morty-less Ricks a generous amount of new Mortys.   
Regardless of the reason, Ricks would back their new Morty with insurance and be offered redeem-coupons for free replacement Mortys, all in a no-questions-asked exchange. The center treated Morty’s like a freshly weaned litter of puppies, and to no surprise, these Mortys acted like it to. They had been here so long, many were easily excitable little bastards, ready and willing for whatever life tossed at them--or whatever Rick would toss them into.

Yet, as often as Ricks came and went, some even returning the same day for a new Morty off the lot, only one specific type of Rick was monitored and often disregarded… and _this_ Rick was no different than the rest.

“So,” the man behind the desk hummed as he held an unopened file in hand. “Rick Sanchez, dimensions D-746…” his eyes never bothered to even glance at the color-coded file. He, instead, focused his glare on the Rick before him in his office. The man behind the desk was dressed down in more casual wear, rolling a toothpick across his tongue as he simply stared at the named Rick before him. “How did you lose your Morty _this_ time?”  
D-746 never met the other's gaze, keeping his own downcast on the pile of disarrayed folders on the desk. Laminate labels coded each file, ranging from green to yellow to red to purple--all different pending Mortys having yet to be processed or adopted. Ricks that didn't work there but had been there enough times, likely knew the colors by heart too--greens were adoptable, yellows were pending, reds had yet to be picked up, and purples were... deceased.

_There were a lot of purple tabs._

Rick’s prolonged moment of silence led the one behind the desk to simply tisk and shake his head, eyes finally glancing over the folder before he looked back up to D-746 and said, “this is the _third_ Morty you’ve lost within the _past year_ .” His tone was laced in disgust as he tossed the file down on the rest, folding his arms.   
“Ricks like you would normally be investigated under conspiracy to commit crimes against Mortys--since these accidents seem to keep… _happening_.”

“What are you, Investigator Rick now?” D-746 jibed, “for fucks sake, it’s not my fault that the Mortys you assigned me are fucking retarded.”

“Here’s the thing, Rick,”  growled the other Rick in annoyance. He leaned over the desk, elbows bracing his weight as he said, “rules are that I report you to crime-stoppers and let McGruff reprimand your ass for intentionally killing your Mortys. You’ll be hauled off to the funny-farm without a hearing, because Ricks like you are the reason we have these regulations in place-- _Family-less Rick._ ”  
D-746 sat silently as the agent went on, fumbling through the file to slam down each purple tab linked to D-746's file, “just this year, your first Morty was shot over _one-hundred and fifty times_ in the back! Your second one _leapt into a blackhole_ , and now you’re telling me--another Rick--that your _third fucking Mor-urp-ty_ fell off a cliff?” It was clear this Rick had a bone to pick with D-746, but so did any Rick that knew of the ones that ‘ _didn’t waste their time_ ’ starting a family. “You want my advice?”

“Keep it,” D-746 muttered. “It’s about as valuable as the Mortys in these agencies are.”

“ _This agency,_ ” he growled, “is the reason why you even _have_ a grandson.” D-746 rolled his eyes at the other Rick, who continued to rant, “Ricks like you shouldn’t be allowed to adopt. You have no frame of reference in where to start on caring for a Morty--and we don’t offer classes on how to: _be a grandfather._ ” Leaning back in his chair, Rick said, “maybe if you simply started a family of your own, you wouldn’t be here--snooping around for your next damn _victim_ .”   
His words were spat with venom as he snatched up D-746’s Morty application and folder, and tossed them in the trash with a frown. “...get the fuck out of my office, _Rick_.”

Never once did he look up to the opposing Rick who dismissed him. His eyes continued to run openly across the messy desk, even as he stood up to leave. For a moment, Rick considered simply snagging a Morty from Morty Town when-   
There on the desk, a color coded file of a red laminate tab caught his eye, reflective of the following dimension: _B-179_. That was a Morty having yet to be processed, but not just any Morty… a _rick-less_ Morty.

Rick’s eyes glinted with interest before he turned on his heels to leave. As he opened the door to exit the office, he was met by a crowd of Ricks actively flooding the massive room, making it near-impossible to leave. He pushed past them in brisk strides through the lot of many other belching alcoholics--thoughts easily drowned out over the laughter and fart jokes flooding his ears--Rick almost felt dizzy being this close to other versions of himself.   
He grimaced.   
Rick needed to get away from the rest of these idiots and find somewhere secluded. He needed to get off this blasphemous citadel as soon as he could, and pick up his new awaiting Morty from that red, smudgy blur of a dimension he read in office.

As difficult as it would be, having had his original portal gun stripped away--and given a new, citadel-issued one--Rick was sure he could manage. After all, he is a Rick.

 

In the Citadel, portal guns were mandated, registered, and actively monitored by the council.  
This is how they knew who left, who came back, where they were and for how long; what Rick was dead, what Morty was Rick-less, and where the portal guns had been compromised. Any new Rick just arriving to the citadel would be stripped of their original gun and given one with a serial code engraved somewhere on the inside--that is, _after_ they, themselves, were registered in the database of Ricks and Rick-kind.   
The thought alone disgusted Rick, remembering his own encounter with two guards from the Citadel. All those years ago, when they approached him through the green swirl of plasma, marked the last day of Rick's freedom--and he submitted to these pompous pricks, because at the time they were just other young Ricks like himself, wanting to start something that  _sounded_ like a good idea: a room of the only people he liked. At least... that's what that one Rick had said.

What this place had become, with these choking regulations and this dysfunctional hierarchy, was nothing far from a totalitarianism--and it was all because these subservient bastards forgot what it meant to be  _a Rick_. He was sick of it, sick of himself and these copies of copies of Ricks who became brainwashed in a bubble of comfortability.   
Ricks aren't meant to be held in one room like caged animals; they were abrasive, adventurous men with a means to invent--to build an empire for themselves, not for  _themselves_. Not like this. 

As Rick stepped out into the mass of the overpopulated citadel, his feet numbly found their way past the rest of the Ricks and Mortys on the street. Perhaps it was paranoia, but they seemed to stare at him, as if knowing who he was and what he was up to… but of course they didn’t. D-746 was no infamous Rick, but he was a Morty-less Rick.   
Ricks without Mortys were not allowed to leave the Citadel, as they were putting too much at risk by drawing attention of inter-dimensional enemies or the Galactic Federation. Morty-less Ricks were often tossed into the back-breaking slum line of work that no Rick would _willingly_  do for fun. More often than not, it was the Ricks who never had an ‘original’ Morty to begin with at the top of the sign-up sheet for those jobs. ‘Family-less’ Ricks, as they were _so originally_ labelled, were monitored far more than the rest of the population. Often times, they were seen as troublesome and disregarding for Mortys. D-746 was no exception to this blatant discrimination, but having lost countless Mortys, with little to no regard for their lives, only added to that stereotype; however, no one would believe a Rick like him if he told them _he never lost them intentionally_. He simply found that Mortys were hard to manage and control--things that _j_ __u_ st never listened. _   
They were such arduous little brats that were far too invested in their own feelings and morals to be reasoned with. To say that there _is_ a Rick out there who has their original Morty  _and_  has yet to even consider killing them at least once, would be an absolute lie--hands down. How _any_ Rick could cope with something as defiant as a Morty was beyond him.

Lost in thought, Rick found himself rounding the corner in an alleyway, only to duck down behind garbage bins and trash bags as a couple of cops passed by. He warily peeked out, fingers finding themselves slipped into a coat pocket to brush against the promising length of a makeshift gun. He smirked to himself as he sat down in the filth, pulling out the prototype-looking piece from his pocket and ogling with wonder about his craft.   
All Ricks knew _how_ to create a portal gun, but not all Ricks were _willing_ to create one. Creating a ‘bootleg’ portal gun and plasma were often unforgivable acts of treason in the eyes of the council--those self-righteous zealots. Any Rick caught in the act would be prosecuted without mercy and sentenced to some weird torture chamber they _thought_ would be intimidating or… something like that.

Whatever.

Rick dialed in the desired dimension--B-179, if he remembered correctly... then fires the gun at the wall, and-   
A green portal opens up, the blast forcing air to pass him and kicking up some stray trash left in the alleyway. His mouth falls open, astonished that it worked- it- it actually worked! He did it!   
Thinking quickly, Rick snatched a couple pieces of loose garbage, and tossed it at the portal--watching each piece slip right through to the otherside without any sudden disintegration or burning. This peeks his interest in his success, realizing the fact that _he had actually done it._   
He created a portal gun that was unknown to the government--untraceable, unregistered, and completely- absolutely authentic. What was there to lose now? The infinite universes were at his fingertips once again!

No more mundane tasks by the citadel, no more reports or files--none of that!   
For but a moment, the world seemed to fall quiet to Rick, watching the green, viscous portal swirl with endless possibilities before him. For a moment, it was calming and welcoming--the world falling quiet as he stared at the glowing gateway to freedom. This… this was a way out.

This was _his_ way out.

Without hesitation, Rick leapt onto his feet and threw caution to the wind--jumping into the portal with reckless abandon. What has he to lose if he fails or gets caught? He dies?

Those were the risks Rick Sanchez was always willing to take.


End file.
